


Static

by liberty_rose



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Achievement Hunter Heists, Blood, Crimes & Criminals, Criminal AU, Guns, Heist, Heist AU, M/M, Organized Crime, Podfic, R&R Connection - Freeform, Raywood, Violence, Weapons, now with podfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3112376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberty_rose/pseuds/liberty_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One audacious heist is all it takes to take down even the best of thieves</p>
            </blockquote>





	Static

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Static  
> Pairing: Raywood  
> Warning(s): Blood, violence, and cursing  
> Author's Note: When I first started writing this, it was inspired by one, unassuming line from the Assassins Creed: Unity Heist Let's Play. But as I continued writing, I found myself going in a different direction with it, and in the end, it wasn't really influenced by it at all. Also, I have very little knowledge of how weapons, heists, and crime in general work. So, most of the information I obtained is from Google. Sorry if I got anything wrong!
> 
> Okay, so there's now a podfic for Static, read by yours truly. You can find it here > http://rayning-roses.tumblr.com/post/118429350497/title-static-pairing-raywood-word-count-4-080 

Static was never a good sound in this line of business. Silence? That they were used to. Heavy breathing? All well and good. But static? Static meant something had gone wrong, and when things went wrong in this kind of job, people wound up dead. Or worse.

"Ryan?" Geoff's cautious voice rose above the noise but received no response.

"Ry-bread?" Michael offered up the nickname to the static, but the continuous sound swallowed the word.

At this point, panic was beginning to set in. It had only been about five minutes since Ryan's communication unit had resorted to the soft hiss of technical malfunction, but when lives were on the line, five minutes felt like an eternity.

The rest of the team had lapsed into hushed breathing and nervous fidgeting, listening intently for any response from Ryan. Ray was the one to break the thick silence with a curse muttered under his breath.

"Shit." The sound of rustling fabric filled the comms as Ray got to his feet, abandoning his sniper rifle in favor of the twin pistols holstered at his hips.

"Stay put." Jack said, watching the yellow blip that marked Ray's position inch away from its designated place on the roof and enter the top floor of the building.

"Like hell." Ray's reply came out in a rough whisper, trying to make himself sound tough and adamant about his next move, while at the same time attempting to stay hidden from the three armed guards just around the corner.

"You won't be of any use to Ryan if you get yourself killed." Jack ran his fingers over the screen of his tablet, watching as the blueprints for the building spun and altered perspective. "Gavin is on the floor below you, Michael on the floor below him, the fifth floor. Geoff is on the third floor, I'm on the first, and Ryan is in the sub-basement. Gav, how fast can you get to the seventh floor?"

"Two minutes?" The words came out as a question, but everyone knew that Gavin would get there in much less time; he was fast.

"You have one." Ray said, carefully peering around the corner to better assess the situation.

Of the three guards, two of them had their backs to him, the third was turned towards him, but was busy chatting with one of his coworkers.

Ray steadied his breathing, counting down the minute he had given Gavin to get his ass up the single flight of stairs which separated them.

By the time he got to the sixtieth second, his breathing was slow and steady and his heart rate had regulated itself. He counted three more seconds before he spun around the corner and fired three shots into the darkened hallway.

The anguished exclamation that followed the gunshots told Ray that at least one of his targets was down. Two more shots took the second one down, but the third seemed to be artfully avoiding the bullets, firing his own in return.

Ray whipped back around the corner, bullets zipping past him and burrowing into the wall opposite him. The sound of heavy boots against tile was getting closer and Ray was preparing himself for another round of shots.

Just as the guard was about to round the corner a quick whistle and a moist thwack preceded the sound of his body thudding to the floor. Ray poked his head into the hallway and saw Gavin standing at the other end, bow raised and arm bent back to grab another arrow.

"About damn time." Ray muttered, stepping over the guard's lifeless form, careful to keep his checkered Vans out of the spreading pool of blood.

"Twelve seconds, Ray. It took me one minute and twelve seconds to get here. I had to get rid of four guys on my floor before I could even get to the staircase." Gavin seemed to take offense to Ray calling him slow.

Gavin walked over to where the guard was sprawled over the pale tiles and yanked out the arrow which had been embedded in the mans flesh. He flicked the arrow downwards, blood splattering the wall and floor. He returned the projectile to the quiver strapped to his back and wiped his hands over the dark material of his pants. Ray quickly side stepped the blood that arched off the arrow, preferring to keep his clothes free of stains as opposed to Gavin's nonchalant attitude towards the cleanliness of his outfit.

"If you're done making a mess, can we get going?" Ray was already making his way down the hall towards the flight of stairs separating the sixth and seventh floors.

Gavin nodded and followed, adjusting his bracer and leather finger tab as he walked. "Michael, we're heading down. Get to the stair well."

"Got it." Michael wasted no time in disposing of the single guard that stood directly in front of the door to the stairs.

The three met on the landing between the sixth and fifth floors, nodding silently before barreling down the stairs. "Geoff?" Ray asked of the silence in his comm unit.

"Already on my way." The sound of a heavy door and echoing footsteps drifted through his microphone as he jogged into the stair well.

The warehouse stairs were entirely concrete, every sound seemed to be magnified by the solid slabs of stone. Every step bounced around the small space, assaulting their ears and drowning the sound of their heavy breathing.

Upon their arrival at the third floor where Geoff stood, fiddling with the sight on his RPD, Jack's voice filled their ears. "Okay, there's a staff elevator on the second floor that goes straight to the sub-basement. It doesn't stop on the first floor so I'll just meet you guys down there."

The second floor had no guards on duty, most likely because the only thing on the floor were bathrooms and closets containing various cleaning supplies. The staff elevator looked out of place in the concrete and tile corridor. The metal grate was a dull, lackluster gold and squealed something awful when Michael yanked it open.

The guys piled in to the relatively small space, packed shoulder to shoulder like sardines in a can. The butt of Michael's AK-47 clattered against Gavin's compound bow, each man trying to tuck their weapon closer to their body. Ray ran his fingers absently over the extra clips strapped to his belts, calculating in his head exactly how many shots he had left before he had to resort to slitting people's throats.

The elevator began its somewhat jerky descent down past the first floor and basement. Below that was the sub-basement where all of the most valuable packages were stored. The further down they went, the darker their surroundings became.

"What should we expect, Jack?" Geoff adjusted the strap of his bag across his chest as he waited for Jack's answer.

"At last count, Ryan said there were around twenty guards down there doing a constant patrol." The information elicited a hiss of irritation from at least one of the men in the elevator.

"We should have never let him come down here alone." Ray braced a hand on the wall as the elevator jolted to a stop.

"He wouldn't have it any other way." Michael said, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles.

"I don't care, someone should have been down here with him. We were all dealing with, what? Five guys each at most? Why was he trying to take on twenty by himself?" Ray hadn't raised his voice but the anger was still clear in the biting snarl of his tone.

"Ryan is a big boy. He can handle himself." Michael was louder by default and his voice carried further than Ray's had.

"Shut up, both of you. We have a job to do and an ass to save." Geoff raised his gun and pointed it at the gate that Michael was slowly pulling open, trying to avoid the whine of protesting hinges as best he could.

Gavin had remained silent through out the whole exchange in favor of stroking the bright red fletching of one of his arrows. He nocked the arrow against the bow string and held it in place, tip angled towards the floor.

When the grate was, at last, open wide enough for them to squeeze through, the guys funneled out of the elevator cautiously, eyes scanning the large, dimly lit room. The immediate area seemed clear, but just beyond their line of sight, the sound of boots slapping against cement could be heard.

"Jack, where are you?" Geoff asked in a whisper.

"Three. Two. One." Jack was beside them the moment the last number left his lips.

Geoff propped his gun against his shoulder and made a series of signals with his free hand that everyone seemed to understand since they all nodded in turn. Michael and Gavin headed away from the rest of the group in one direction, Jack and Geoff in the other. That left Ray, their best shot, to go the direct route to the back of the room by himself.

Pistols raised, Ray measured each step he took, assessing every stack of boxes and crates that loomed over him. When a guard came close, he pressed his back against one of the shipping crates, letting the shadow it cast hide him. He repeated the process as he weaved through the aisles of boxes. Hiding was easier and a hell of a lot more quiet than firing a gun in a room where every step reverberated off of the walls.

About halfway there something crunched underfoot. Ray looked down and saw a small black box attached to a thin wire and round plastic piece. Ryan's communication unit. It was mangled almost beyond recognition, the wire nearly split. Ray took a deep breath before continuing through the room.

It took longer than he would have liked to make to the back of the warehouse's sub-basement. There was very little that drew attention on the back wall except a white door which stood out in bright contrast to the dark stone wall. The door itself wasn't so remarkable, but the two guards on either side of it made it of interest. No one guarded a door with nothing behind it.

"I need a distraction." Ray murmured to the group at large.

"Will do." It was Michael that responded first.

Over the comm Ray could hear a faint beeping, followed by Michael grunting as he threw something. Somewhere near the front of the room, light and thunder bloomed from the explosion, sending boxes toppling over with a tremendous crash.

The two men guarding the white door shared a glance before rushing off to investigate the cause of the commotion.

"You could have just fired your gun a few times." Ray commented, jogging towards the door.

"And where's the fun in that?" Michael chuckled, slightly out of breath as he ran through the room, away from the guards that were closing in on him.

Ray hurriedly tugged on the handle of the door, and to his surprise, it parted ways with the door frame easily. It swung open to reveal a room only slightly brighter than the one he had just abandoned.

But it was not the lighting of the room that caught Ray's eye, it was the body slumped in the chair in the middle of the room that made his heart skip a painful beat.

"Hey! Who the hell are you?" A gruff voice called and it was only then that Ray saw the man barreling towards him.

Without a moments hesitation, Ray aimed one of the pistols and fired two rounds directly into the mans skull. Blood surged from the wounds, pouring down the face which was now frozen in slack-jawed horror.  
Ignoring the sickening thud the body created as it met the ground, Ray made a mad dash for the silent figure in the chair. He skidded to a stop before the man, sneakers squelching in the blood on the floor.

Half of the sandy blonde hair which hung over his face was matted with blood that seemed to be seeping from a rather nasty gash on the top of his head. His hands were bound at the wrists behind the chair, the restraints pulling as if they were the only thing keeping him upright. The skin beneath the rope was raw and bloody, causing Ray to wince at the sight.

"R-Ryan?" Ray's voice caught in his throat as he tentatively outstretched a hand to touch his friends shoulder.

Silence was the only response he received, but it deafened him, clawing at his ears along side the sound of his own blood pumping through his veins. He gave Ryan a gentle shove to the shoulder and the man slumped back, his head lolling to the side.

It was then, when the bloody hair fell away, that Ray could see the true extent of the damage that had been done. Blood trickled from his nose, his split bottom lip, and from somewhere beyond his hairline. A fist sized bruise decorated the apple of his right cheek, the swelling starting to affect his eye.

Ray knelt down so that he could peer up into his friends battered face; he reached out and brushed a strand of damp hair from Ryan's swollen eye. "Don't you dare die on me." Ray choked out.

Ray usually kept his composure through whatever life threw at him, but seeing Ryan beaten and bloodied, unconscious and tied to a chair, that hit him hard. It made his chest ache and his stomach bottom out.

"You hear me, Haywood? If you fucking die, I will steal your chemistry shit, bring you back to life, and stab you in the fucking face." He tried to employ a stern tone, but the words wavered unsteadily, thick with emotion. "Please, Ryan." His whispered plea fell from lips that were fighting against an inescapable trembling.

Angrily, Ray swiped at his stinging eyes. He hadn't cried since he watched his mother walk out the front door of his aunt's house without a second glance. He had only been seven at the time, so he liked to think he had reason enough to get all weepy. But he was 25 now and part of one of the most notorious gangs of criminals the country had ever seen. There was no excuse for the behavior he was exhibiting now.

Ray ground his teeth together so hard that his jaw began to ache. He pushed off the blood slicked ground, raising himself to his full, if rather unimpressive, height. He tugged a small knife free of its sheath around his ankle and set about sawing through the ropes which bound Ryan.

He wrapped an arm around Ryan's chest as he finished severing the rope. With the ropes gone, all of Ryan's weight sagged forward and Ray struggled to keep him upright. He grunted and repositioned himself so that Ryan's arm was slung over his shoulder and his own arm was clamped securely around Ryan's waist.

It took a great deal of huffing and puffing to get both men across the room and out the door. Ray had been so caught up in the happenings of the little room that he had all but forgotten about the drama going on beyond the plain white door. Well, at least the drama he had left behind when he entered the room. Now, the warehouse seemed eerily calm.

"What's going on?" Ray panted into his comm unit, sweat beading on his temples under the exertion of holding up the much larger man.

"Well..." Gavin began almost unwillingly. "Most of the guards are a little, uhm. Dead."

"You killed all of them?" Ray asked, voice tinged with disbelief.

Jack had said that, at last count, there had been at least twenty guards on the warehouse level. How had they managed to kill twenty men in the, what, six minutes Ray had been otherwise occupied?

"No, not all of them!" Gavin squawked in protest. "Some of them are still alive. There is definitely one still making noise so, you know, he's most likely still hanging on."

"Gavin chucked a grenade and missed, of course, but somehow managed to hit a stack of boxes just right so that they crushed about six dudes. It was one of the luckiest fuck ups I've ever seen." Michael laughed.

"That wasn't luck, that was one hundred percent, pure, unadulterated skill." Gavin boasted.

"Skill my ass, your aim may be great but you throw like a little girl." Michael replied with a snort as both men rounded a nearby corner; the smile on his face dropped immediately upon seeing Ray and Ryan. "Shit." He breathed.

Michael and Gavin rushed forward, each man taking one of Ryan's arms and looping it around their shoulders. Ray straightened, now free of the weight that had been nearly bending him in half.

"What the hell happened?" Michael grunted, readjusting his hold on Ryan's limp body.

"Fuck if I know. There's an empty room in the back and he was tied to a chair and someone had beat the absolute shit out of him." Ray could feel his muscles tensing again just thinking about the state he had found Ryan in.

"Did you take care of it?" The tone Michael had taken left no doubt about what he meant.

"Of course." Ray's tone mimicked the other man's, dark and dry. "Geoff?"

"We're on our way." Geoff replied to the question that he had yet to be asked.

"Good, oh, and Jack?" Ray asked as he stripped off his hoodie, crumpling the blood stained fabric into a tight ball.

"Yeah?" Jack answered, the sound of humming machinery filling the background as he flipped switches in the awaiting van.

"Put in a call to the B-Team. Tell them there's a Hunter down."

"And then the cops showed up and we sprinted out there like a bat outta hell!" Gavin finished his story and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and smiling smugly.

Ray nodded, still not quite sure whether or not to believe Gavin's account of the nights happenings; he had a tendency to over embellish just a bit.

It had been nearly a week since the warehouse heist, five days to be exact, and Ryan had yet to show any signs of regaining consciousness. The other members of the gang had gone out and managed to hold up a bank that night without a hitch, according to Gavin.

Except to grab a drink or a sandwich and go to the bathroom, Ray hadn't left Ryan's side once. Kdin had gone in his place when the gang did anything requiring a sharp eye and a steady aim. Lindsay and Caleb were in and out of Ryan's room, checking his injuries and changing his bandages.

When they had first arrived back at base, the B-Team, consisting of Kdin, Lindsay, and Caleb, had been waiting for them. Lindsay and Caleb, while also being a crack information gatherer and an expert hacker respectively, were both well versed in the world of nursing wounds.

Ryan had been pretty banged up. A wound to the skull like someone had bashed a two-by-four over his head, a broken nose, a busted lip, and various cuts and bruises all over the rest of his body. Over the next few days, the cuts had began to heal, the bruises turning a nasty greenish-yellow color. Ray had watched the transformations slowly happen, each time he glanced at the damage that had been done, his insides would tie themselves into angry knots.

Everyone had been trying to pry Ray away from Ryan's bedside, but none of them had succeeded. Ray had simply powered on the X-Box in Ryan's room and played games or watched movies to keep his mind occupied. Not that he could recall a single detail of the movies he had watched or the games he had played. He had been far too worried about the health of the man tucked beneath the blankets beside him.

At one point, Ryan had clenched his fists and furrowed his brow, beads of sweat gathering on his upper lip and brow bone. Ray had worked himself into a tizzy trying to relax him, pulling the blankets down and back up multiple times, and laying a cool, damp cloth across his forehead.  
In the end Ray had put a hand over Ryan's and begged him to wake up.

Ryan had unclenched his fists and grabbed hold of the hand Ray had placed on top of his, clinging to it as if he was his life line. So, Ray held his hand, switching to exclusively watching movies and TV shows so he wouldn't have to let go in order to play games.

That was how Gavin, who had been bursting to retell the epic events of the night, and the rest of the gang had found him that night; holding onto Ryan's hand and watching some sitcom that he couldn't say the plot of if his life had depended on it.

The rest of the guys had taken seats around the room; Jack and Michael on the love seat, Gavin cross-legged at the end of the bed, and Geoff leaning against the wall at the head of the bed.

They were all staring at the television, unwinding after a successful job. A sound from the bed drew everyone's attention, and Ray's heart skipped a beat before nearly doubling its speed.

Ryan emitted a groaning hum, stretching his sore muscles and wincing. It was the first real sign of life he had displayed since he had been found beat up in the basement.

"C'mon, Ryan. Wake up." Ray was on his feet in an instant, moving to sit on the bed so he was as close to Ryan as was possible. "Please." The whispered word cracked pitifully as he quietly begged.

Ryan scrunched up his forehead and groaned again. His eyes fluttered open and his pupils dilated against the sudden light, making the blue of his irises look much lighter than they normally did.

"You're awake." Ray breathed in almost reverent awe, like it was the most holy of miracles to see Ryan's perfect blue eyes blinking up at him.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, buddy." Geoff said, the same smile brightening his face and the faces of every other person in the room.

Everyone took turns essentially telling Ryan how happy they were that he was, indeed, not dead after all. Everyone, that is, except Ray. After his initial exhalation of wonder, he had gone silent. One by one, the other men left the room, leaving behind only Ray, Ryan, the quiet drone of the television, and the faint smell of medical disinfectant.

"You okay, there?" Ryan asked, his voice gravelly from lack of use.

The simple question took Ray off guard. He should have been the one to ask that; after all, he hadn't been the one who had been beaten within an inch of his life. Ryan, ever the concerned friend, always made sure the others were okay before taking into account his own injuries.

Without a second thought, Ray placed a hand on either side of Ryan's face and pressed his lips fiercely against the other man's. It could have been considered an awkward first kiss. Ryan's lips were chapped beyond belief and there was still a slight scab where his bottom one had been split open, but for what it was, the kiss was perfect.

"Ow." Ryan croaked softly, wincing almost imperceptibly.

Ray pulled back, the wet flesh of his lips sticking to the dry skin of Ryan's. Both men laughed quietly.

"I'm glad you didn't die." Ray murmured into the small amount of space separating them.

"Well, I couldn't. If I recall correctly, someone threatened to resurrect me and 'stab me in the fucking face'." A sly smile tilted the corners of Ryan's mouth.

A crease formed between Ray's eyebrows as he cast his mind back to the threats he had made at, what he thought was, a completely unconscious Ryan.

"But, you were-" Ray began, but was cut off by a scratchy laugh from Ryan.

The older man licked his lips and slid a hand to the nape of Ray's neck, pulling him back down. As their lips met, all other thoughts of conversations past were quickly forgotten.


End file.
